Burden of a Healer
by ichirukifan101
Summary: Healers. Everyone in the Sereitei seems to overlook them. Think of them as weak. Useless in battle. Just silly little shinigami. But, unknown to others, the healers carry their own burden. One far heavier than most can bear.


**Man, I am on a roll! Third oneshot posted!~**

**This one's on Unohana, and, in a way, her views on death, and just how hard being a healer can be.**

**I think that it seems like squad four is really undermined a lot of the time, so I just wanted to write a little thingy about the importance of it, and the secret burden that all of the healers, more specifically Unohana, have to bear when a death occurs.**

**I really hope you guys like it; please review!~ And, like always, review with what you really think. So yes, if you feel like it, you can rant on me about how much it sucks or whatever. ^.^**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. Clear and simple.**

* * *

><p>Unohana Retsu was captain of division four. The medical squad. The healing squad.<p>

A captain, yes. But her role as a healer was always first.

Her soft, soothing healing kido. Her gentle bedside manner. Her "death smile", bestowed on those unruly patients (read: division eleven).

She was the best of the best.

But she, she who had been hardened by the bloody battles of war, she, who had long become accustomed to the injuries, be it a sprained wrist or a lost limb, that walked into her division day after day, could never get used to death.

Never.

Not even her, who had been in experiences, where she couldn't save the patient, where she held them as they died in her arms, still furiously tried to undo the damage. No, not even her.

Because, to her, no one was completely immune to death. Not even her, who had been the witness to many of them. All one too many in her eyes.

But it was necessary in her profession. Sereitei needed a healer, needed a healing division. And she had stepped into those shoes a long time ago. And she could never step out.

And so, because it was of her free will that she had chosen this role, she bore the pain. The guilt. The crushing sadness, all of it, that came with each life that she couldn't save. All of it.

It was her burden to bear. All alone.

It wasn't the squad's fault, no, never them. They had all tried their hardest, but, even so, it was Unohana who was called in when it got really bad. When the recruits couldn't do anymore. And so, when they died, it was on her hands. Hers alone.

But she never let in show. Never let that silent pain, silent guilt, silent sadness show itself on her face. Never. The squad needed a strong leader, and she had assumed that role as well. It was required of a captain, to always put on a brave front, above all, when addressing the squad. Because they needed her. She was their rock.

But then, then, who would be hers?

No one.

She was by herself.

And so, whenever she returned to her own small, simply furnished home, she would simply lie in bed. Silently mourning for those whose lives had ended that day.

And she would remember the times, the days and the feelings, before she took on the task of healing.

She was a happier, more carefree person back then. With knowledge and excitement shining in her eyes, wondering what she would learn next in the academy, she was content. With an air of pure joy and innocence shining in her eyes, one that not many would find in a girl at that age.

But then, she took on healing. And her life changed.

She remembered that day. She had recently become the captain of squad four, and, for the moment, the Sereitei was in peacetime. No deaths had chanced upon her, no, not yet. But that would soon change.

And, one day, an alarm had sounded for her to come to the surgical ward. Rushing over, she walked inside…and took a heavy, quick intake of breath at what awaited her. A man, nearly cut in half, from shoulder to torso, lay on the operating table.

"What…what happened?" she had remembered asking, a slight quaver in her voice. Not even she had assumed that the injuries would be this bad.

"Hollow. A Menos, actually. He tried to take it on by himself, the fool. Almost died doing so, would have, too, if his teammates hadn't called in for backup," said the messenger, coldly and professionally.

And so, she set to work. Tried to repair his internal organs, tried to sew shut the long, ragged wound, tried to stem the blood gushing out from the damage point.

But it was all for nought.

The man died in her arms, and, fighting the anesthetics, he spoke to her. And told her to say sorry to his family, sorry to his teammates, and sorry to his captain for his incompetence in battle. And he died.

And, that day, that innocence in her eyes disappeared. And with every passing day, with every mission that went wrong, with every death that was put on her shoulders, her burden to bear, the light in her eyes waned, still, little by little.

Until, one day, it was extinguished. Gone forever, to be replaced by, instead, a look of soft contemplation, and a look of one who knows things far beyond their years. But she still smiled.

For her squad. Only for her squad.

If it were her choice, she would think, she felt certain that she would not have been smiling very much. Not with all of the blood, the screams, the death, that she had felt in her lifetime. But the squad made it needed for her to smile.

So, in a way, she was their rock. And, in return, they were hers.

And every day, every time a death occurred, she would mourn. With every day looming closer and closer to the dreaded Winter War, life needed to be cherished. Every minute of it. When it had been extinguished, you mourned. And so that was what she did.

She had done it since her first death of the wounded, and never stopped since.

It was her way of saying that she was still humane. Still showed compassion, still showed kindness in her heart. Like before.

Because, if she didn't mourn for them, she would be admitting to herself that she didn't care whether or not one of her own had died.

And if that happened, if she didn't feel a pang in her chest whenever someone died under her care, then, she told herself, she would have become a monster.

And a woman like Unohana Retsu could never become that.

Because, after all, healers can heal and repair the wounds that others suffer.

But even they can't heal a hardened heart.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: yes, I do realize that the last line, even the general storyline, could pretty much apply to a whole lotta people. I just wanted it to be Unohana. Also, please excuse me if she seems out of character…I think she might be…So sorry 'bout that...<strong>


End file.
